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BONUS--FREE PODCAST: Listen to a free Podcast interview with Rick Brooks and Todd Bol on Wisconsin Public Radio's "Here on Earth" show. The show host, Jean Feraca is one of my favorites. Check out her other show topics in the "Here on Earth" archives.
One challenge writers face is knowing exactly what a word means and then using it in a unique way. Great authors are more than writers. They weave words in one-of-a-kind patterns that create specific images in their readers’ minds. Often these writers throw out the mechanical rules of writing and allow the words to lead them.
Stephen King writes just ten pages a day, every day, always in the morning. Maya Angelou prefers writing in hotels instead of at home, and she asks the hotel staff to remove everything from the walls of her room. Thomas Wolfe used the top of his refrigerator as a writing desk (he was a very tall man). And Edgar Allan Poe enjoyed writing with his cat, Cleopatra, on his shoulder. 
Did you enter 2012 feeling discouraged about your writing? Maybe one of your goals for last year was to get your work published and that didn’t happen. You might be weary of the business side of writing, watching sales figures drop, working hard to promote your work and receiving little in return. Whatever the source of your discouragement, here are six surefire ways to beat it.
I'm not the sort of writer who creates a list of writing goals at the beginning of a new year. Instead, I'll move forward into 2012 eager to see what each day brings. As 2011 ends, these three quotations from famous authors sum up how I feel.
When I was growing up, and well into my adulthood, my mom always served ham salad sandwiches on Christmas Eve. It was a tradition and not one that I particularly liked. Whoever heard of a ham salad Christmas?
After my grandparents had all passed away and mom continued to serve the sandwiches, I finally asked her why. I never expected the special story that she shared with me on that Christmas Eve night.
Mom’s family had little money. They lived in an upper flat just a block away from the railroad tracks. Freight trains traveled that line connecting Chicago and Milwaukee, and the boxcars often carried stowaways. Bums, they were called back then. Hobos.
Around suppertime on one cold Christmas Eve, the doorbell rang at my mother’s house. My grandfather answered it and found a “hobo” standing on the front porch. The man was dirty and cold, and he asked if he could have some food. My grandmother had just made ham salad for their Christmas Eve supper. It was the best my mother’s family could afford, and Grandma made it special. She ground the ham with a hand-cranked meat grinder, added homemade mayonnaise, a little pickle relish and a good dash of pepper. She was just about to spread it on slices of homemade buttered bread when the doorbell rang. Not wanting anyone to go hungry on Christmas Eve, Grandma packed a brown paper sack with several ham salad sandwiches and gave it to Grandpa. Mother remembered that the man smiled broadly when Grandpa handed him the sack, and Grandpa tucked several one-dollar bills into the man’s pocket, too – money that my grandparents really couldn’t spare.
If you are reading this, you most likely have a computer, a warm house, and are anticipating a Christmas Eve supper filled with good things to eat. As you celebrate, don’t forget the ham salad sandwiches. Many people are poor or homeless this year. Will you spare some “ham salad” for them?
I wish all of my readers a peaceful Christmas filled with joy. I’ll see you back here the first week in January.
“Dickens began writing his "little carol" in October, 1843 finishing it by the end of November in time to be published for Christmas with illustrations by John Leech. Feuding with his publishers, Dickens financed the publishing of the book himself, ordering lavish binding, gilt edging, and hand-colored illustrations and then setting the price at 5 shillings so that everyone could afford it. This combination resulted in disappointingly low profits despite high sales. In the first few days of its release the book sold six thousand copies and its popularity continued to grow. The first and best of his Christmas Books, A Christmas Carol has become a Christmas tradition and easily Dickens' best known book.” (copyright © 1997-2011 David A. Perdue)
According to The Literature Network, Porter spent several years in prison after being convicted of embezzling money. While in prison, he began writing short stories. His first, “Whistling Dick’s Christmas Stocking,” was published in 1899, while Porter was still incarcerated. After his release, he published more than 600 short stories using the name O. Henry. “The Gift of the Magi” was published in 1905.
The authorship of “The Night Before Christmas,” also known as “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” is clouded in ambiguity. One story is that Clement C. Moore wrote the poem on a snowy day, in a sleigh, while returning home from a shopping trip. A friend of Moore’s liked the poem and sent it anonymously to the Troy, New York, Sentinel. They published it on December 23, 1823, and it became instantly popular. Moore, a Baptist minister and professor of theology, wasn’t sure that he wanted to take credit for writing the well-liked rhyme. He thought it might be too secular. But finally, in 1844 after the poem had garnered great success, Moore included it in a book of his poems and claimed it as his own. But the backstory doesn’t end here. In 2000, Donald Foster, a Vassar College English professor and authority on literary identity, disputed Moore’s authorship. He suggested that a farmer/poet named Henry Livingston Jr. wrote the famous poem. In fact, next week, Livingston’s descendants will release a new edition of “A Visit From St. Nicholas” with Livingston credited as its author. You can read more about it here on The Boston Globe’s web page.
Here’s my list:“Thanksgiving is the holiday of peace, the celebration of work and the simple life... a true folk-festival that speaks the poetry of the turn of the seasons, the beauty of seedtime and harvest, the ripe product of the year - and the deep, deep connection of all these things with God.”
‘What hast got in that basket, lazy hound?'
'Grip, Grip, Grip--Grip the clever, Grip the wicked, Grip the knowing--Grip, Grip, Grip,' cried the raven, whom Barnaby had shut up on the approach of this stern personage. 'I'm a devil I'm a devil I'm a devil, Never say die Hurrah Bow wow wow, Polly put the kettle on we'll all have tea.'
'Take the vermin out, scoundrel,' said the gentleman, 'and let me see him.'Barnaby, thus condescendingly addressed, produced his bird, but not without much fear and trembling, and set him down upon the ground; which he had no sooner done than Grip drew fifty corks at least, and then began to dance; at the same time eyeing the gentleman with surprising insolence of manner, and screwing his head so much on one side that he appeared desirous of screwing it off upon the spot . . .
'Bring him along,' said the gentleman, pointing to the house. But Grip, who had watched the action, anticipated his master, by hopping on before them;--constantly flapping his wings, and screaming 'cook!' meanwhile, as a hint perhaps that there was company coming, and a small collation would be acceptable.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door --
Only this, and nothing more."
Grip lived a long and healthy life with Charles Dickens until the bird became ill after ingesting some lead paint chips. Dickens took his feathered companion to a veterinarian who prescribed castor oil, but alas “quoth the raven” after living with the Dickens' family for 36 years, Grip succumbed and was “nevermore.”


The article said that Kathryn finished her first version of “The Help,” sent it out to an agent, and received a rejection letter. She kept revising her manuscript and sending it out. After the fifteenth rejection, a friend suggested to Kathryn that maybe she should begin writing her next book. But Kathryn refused. She believed in her story, and she wanted to get THAT book published before she wrote another. She pressed on through 60 rejections until an agent sold “The Help” to Amy Einhorn Books—and the rest is history.Best-selling Books Repeatedly Rejected by Publishers
Auntie Mame, (rejected 15 times)
Jonathan Livingston Seagull (18)
Chicken Soup for the Soul (140)
Kon-Tiki (20)
Harry Potter (9)
Lorna Doone (18)
M*A*S*H* (21)
Carrie (30)
Gone With the Wind (38)
A Wrinkle in Time (26)
Read more about it.
Darwin Falls, Minnesota: Unusual Landmarks
When Linda Atkinson opened the front door, an overwhelming stench rushed past her; animal feces, rotting food, the unmistakable scent of mildew and mold. Slowly, carefully, she edged sideways through the narrow path in her aunt’s living room. Boxes packed with who-knows-what, stacked floor to ceiling, thrown precariously atop one another, blocked any light that might have come through the windows. Linda hesitated, fighting a crushing urge to run from the house and not look back.
“John always was one to procrastinate,” said old Mr. Potter. “He’s a selfish one, if you ask me. Too full of himself.”
Edward reached down and scratched Toby’s ears. The dog shoved its nose into the palm of Edward’s hand and licked it, wanting more. “You love me, don’t you boy?” said Edward. “You’re the only one who does.”
I wonder, thought Carolyn, if Ashley is really happy. She seems so on the outside, but there’s something about her that’s cynical and cold.
Whenever Trevor swung the bat, at best it was a foul ball, but Wilson Mays, he connected almost one-hundred percent of the time.
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